Rick Bursky The Hydra Spiritual

There are not enough moons in the night
Sky to light my bedroom window,
Not enough space in the room for a man
Like me to dance, but the time for that has passed.
Though I shake my fist this never changes.
No one enjoys a woe-is-me story more than
The God who now only offers cut-rate salvation.
What do I get in return for agreeing to the sacrifices?
What? Two calamities and three broken bones,
That crippled dog crawling like a frightened
Soldier, and yes, yes, I am keeping score.

We are intricate details in the machinery,
Nothing more. Time is the tongue licking me
As I stand in the cold waiting for sunrise.
I could be a glass door if need be.
That I take my heart with me
Everywhere is no longer a blessing.
Clouds are bells waiting to be rung,
And when they are some mysterious part of our DNA
Will drive us to our duty stations.
I forget which of us is on which end of the leash.
In the right crowd, a leather-burn is a mark of pride.

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